The Gas Chamber
by CheekyBrunette
Summary: After a really nice request to abuse Carlos, I have finally written it! So who wants to read about our little peice of Latino spiciness nearly dying as a kid? Rated for overall darkness.


Logan groaned as he pulled out his math folder, only to find out it was Carlos's. He set his calculator down on his dining room table and stuffed his feet into his shoes, ignoring the laces. He tucked the folder under his arm and ran off towards the Garcia's house, cold wind rushing through his jacket.

Logan jogged up their front steps five minutes later, discouraged by the lack of cars in the drive way. He rang the doorbell, hopping from foot to foot to keep warm. He looked desperately though the front window, and saw light filtering under the bathroom door and into the dark hallway.

The raven-haired boy let himself in, his face flushing as the warmth from inside hit it. He pounded on the bathroom door. "Hey, Carlos! You in there?" he asked, third-grade voice small in the eerie silence of the empty house. There was nothing buy a faint scratching noise from within. The heavy smell of chemicals filled the air. For some reason, Logan's heart started pounding in his chest. Something felt off about this. His small fist banged on the door harder. "Carlos?" he yelped, voice high.

He brought his ear to the door just in time to hear an almost inaudible "help" from the other side. Logan sent up a silent prayer, backing up and running at the door. The guys had done this thousands of times, but never had it been for a cause so pressing. Logan knocked it off its hinges.

Within seconds, he was clouded in a fog of gas. His eyes bleared and he tugged his shirt over his nose, struggling for oxygen. He searched frantically in the bathroom for his friends, finding him doubled over the air vent, face pressed in tightly, still and soaking wet.

Panic rushed through Logan. He quickly took the Latino up in his thin arms, struggling under his weight, but this was too intense for Logan to drop him now. He staggered out of the bathroom, gasping for air, but not before noticing the bucket smoking in the corner, next to two empty bottles of ammonia and bleach.

He blindly found his way to the living room, glad he had been to the Garcia's house so many times because his eyes were watering too much for him to be able to actually see the way. He laid Carlos on the couch, and as soon as he did, the boy flickered to life, coughing up blood onto the cushions.

Logan snagged the phone from the coffee table, eyes wet with tears, chest constricted with fear. He dialed in the oh-so-familiar numbers, the ones he used for broken arms and bad concussions.

9.1.1.

"911, what is the nature of your emergency?" came the feminine voice after the click of the phone being picked up. Logan's words came out tight and cracking.

"Hi, um, I'm Logan, and I'm at my friend Carlos Garcia's house, and, um, he's the victim," he babbled, struggling to remember what his teachers told him to say when he made these calls. "He was trapped in a room with mixed ah-moe-nin-hee-uh and bleach." Tears streaked Logan's face. "He's coughing up blood," he squeaked. The voice returned from the other line, sounding stressed.

"Okay, hon. Help is on the way," the operator assured him, obviously tracking his location through the phone. "Is there and adult there?" Logan shook his head, and then remembered that the lady couldn't see him.

"No." He could hear a sigh crackle though the receiver.

"Okay, just sit tight help will be there soon. Don't be scared when they come, alright?" Logan nodded and put down the phone in its cradle, hanging up. He knelt by Carlos, grasping his hand in his own. Carlos's eyes fluttered up at him, red and shot.

"Logie," he croaked. Logan gripped his shoulder.

"Don't talk if it hurts!" he exclaimed. He could hear his pulse beating wildly in his head, throbbing especially hard in his temples. He felt nauseous. Carlos shook his head.

"No, I have ta-" he licked his lips and Logan ran for a glass of water. Carlos literally drank it up. "My mom," his voice broke, tears gliding down his cheeks. "She put me in there." Logan was completely lost.

"You mean, she accidentally did?" he asked, wondering where Mrs. Garcia was anyway. She had always been pretty neglectful, but it was never like her to leave her son home alone. Carlos shook his head, unable to speak. "So... on purpose?" Logan asked, praying the answer was no. The Latino nodded.

Logan practically collapsed on Carlos, wrapping him up in a tight hug.

Carlos's face buried into his shoulder, and he cried. "She said she was made at Papi," he wailed, "she said she was leaving, and getting rid of me to make things easier!" Carlos quaked in Logan's arms. "I don't want to make things hard for my Papi, Logie!" he sobbed, voice hoarse and gruff.

Logan didn't say anything. He couldn't if he tried. He just held onto his friend, letting his touch do the talking, trying to convey just how much he loved him.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and Carlos looked at him with fearful eyes, a trail of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry," Logan told him, gripping onto his trembling shoulders so hard his knuckles turned white. "I won't leave you alone," he assured him, brown eyes shining with a reflected fear. Carlos's expression said it all. Logan pulled him into his thin arms, sirens right outside the door. "They're going to help you," and after the questioning look in the Latino's eyes, "I promise."

And with that, paramedics burst through the door, swarming around the two boys. Within seconds, Carlos was strapped to a gernie and hooked up to oxygen. He reached out a weak hand to Logan, but before he could respond, a man had picked him up and started carrying him after his dying friend.

It wasn't long before Carlos was in surgery, and Logan was crying into a telephone, alone in the waiting room, trying to explain everything to an in denial Mr. Garcia.

Little did Logan Mitchell know, eight years later he'd be sitting across the table from a smiling Carlos Garcia, flinging chocolate pudding at a lucky, white v-neck wearing James Diamond with a spoon, joy filling his heart, while Logan still ached. Carlos had been able to put it behind him, but there were some things about that night that Logan would be able to unsee. And Carlos sobbing in his arms, blood trickling from his lip?

Well, that was one of them.

**FINALLY! Sorry it took so long CookieLover! I take forever to write stuff about Carlos. **

**BTW, this is probably the last one shot for a REALLY long time, okay? I have two more multi chapters to start, and that's all I'm gonna be able to do without you people sending me death threats when I don't update.**


End file.
